


My Only Ghost

by margaeries



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Violence, F/M, Implied Incest, Menstruation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-04
Updated: 2013-05-04
Packaged: 2017-12-10 09:56:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/784761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/margaeries/pseuds/margaeries
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Memories are all that is left to them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Only Ghost

**Author's Note:**

> This basically came about because I was listening to a song and was drowned in Robb/Sansa feelings. I'm new to ao3, so please let me know if I am tagging incorrectly, or anything like that; I would hate to trigger people with misleading descriptions.

He tosses and turns, finding no comfort in the wide expanse of his bed, cold and empty. It is so often in the little hours of the morning that his thoughts turn to her, the one thing he forbids himself to think about whilst planning for battles and strategies and all the burdens of war.  
  
She is the one he can’t save yet, the one person he has let down. Why are his victories even counted, when she is still in enemy hands, fighting for her life when she should be safe beside him? _Sansa, my sweetling, forgive me._ Her name repeats like a prayer in his mind; on his tongue, it sounds like sorrow.  
  
Robb shouldn’t be thinking about her, not while his enemies still march towards him, while he has to clear his head to think about war instead. But he is tired of war, to tell the truth. To all, it seems to come easy to him, but he alone feels the weight of the crown on his head, the crown he never asked for.  
  
She would understand his pain. She would soothe his woes and smile so it softened his heart, and her warm embrace would surround him, and together they would be impenetrable. But she is not here, and so he must only remember.  
  
His lady mother says that he should not shoulder the blame, that no one could have stopped the events that were most likely in full flow before Ned Stark had even left Winterfell for King’s Landing. All they could do was carry on, and pray that the gods would grant them mercy, and victory, and long-sought peace. Even so, at times he swears he can feel the blame in Catelyn Stark’s eyes. He has failed her, failed them all.  
  
Behind his eyelids, he sees pictures of long-gone days, lazy afternoons spent in the godswood with Sansa, listening to her stories. She was always fond of telling him stories, and Robb was only too glad to hear them. Even then, she had captured his heart in a way no other person could. Was it the way she looked up at him with awe and respect? Could it have been her obvious contentment at spending time with him, her eagerness to please him? Sansa had no idea how much those little things would come to mean to him. He missed her hugs, her easy smiles for him, and the songs that were never far from her lips.  
  
The songs! Her voice was pure and sweet as she sang of maids and knights, and in his head he would see the songs played out, such was her talent for weaving tales.  
  
“He sounds like Uncle Benjen to me.” Robb had laughed, as she told him the story of the brave warrior who fought the dragon to rescue the maidens in the castle.  
  
“He reminds me of you.”  
  
“He was handsome and brave, though, little sis. I don’t think they will sing of me like that.”  
  
“Oh, but you are handsome! You mustn’t think you’re not!” and she had blushed prettily, her eyes downcast.  
  
Overcome with a sudden tenderness towards her, he had lifted her chin with a gentle touch, the summer breeze coursing through his veins, spurring him on. Sansa’s eyes had been glistening with tears, but her smile was bright and full of joy. His own heart had filled with an overwhelming rush of emotion, a reckless urge to kiss those tears away before they could stain her cheeks. She took his hand from her face and grazed it with her lips, and all of a sudden, he felt something shift. The world was a little different, though to everyone else it would go unnoticed.  
  
“What is it, Robb? You look unwell.” The concern in her eyes made his heart thump loudly. He had to get away from her, before they could talk about what had passed between them, before she could understand that he felt the earth spinning before him, and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it. How could she understand? What if this moment was happening in his head, and she was left totally unaffected? He wouldn’t be able to bear the shame or the humiliation.  
  
So he forced himself to get up, away from the tree they were sitting beneath, with only a mumbled excuse of “Jon wanted to practise his sword skills with me, I should go,” He didn’t give himself a chance to look back on her lovely face, or else he would have seen the confusion cloud her features, and he would crumble and turn back.  
  
The day that Sansa left Winterfell along with their father and sister, she and Robb had faced each other one last time before her departure. In the days coming up to this moment, he had tried his best to avoid her, though it was increasingly difficult amidst the chaos of Bran’s fall, his mother’s grief and the hostile atmosphere the Lannisters seemed to bring to their home. Sansa was always there when he turned, her face betraying her hurt; clearly she had felt his efforts to ignore her, and was not taking it well. Now she was to go south to marry the Lannister boy, a boy who he didn’t know, and was now a part of his sister’s life. He didn’t know how to feel about that.  
  
“Goodbye then, Robb,” Sansa said, leaning forward to embrace him. He had to refrain from holding her too tight, lest he never let go. He wondered if he hadn’t imagined the delicate flutters of fingers on his neck, and it was then he knew that there was no going back to the ways things had once been between them.  
  
As he lay there on his bed, Robb swore he could feel those little touches now, the ghosts of where she had once held on to him. Tears were fast approaching him, though he was loathe to admit it, but as he was alone, painfully so, he broke down in racking sobs with a careless abandon, letting his anguish wash over him.  
  


*

She dreamed of him again last night. It had been the same every time; on a majestic golden horse, Robb had ridden through the streets of King’s Landing, knocking aside all those who stood in his way, until he had battered down the doors to the castle. She saw him ride boldly to the throne room where Joffrey was alone, unaware, cowering like the worm he was. She could do nothing but watch as her beloved brother swung his sword in a lightning-fast motion, detaching Joffrey’s head from his neck. It sprayed an arc of vivid red blood through the air before landing at the feet of the King in the North. Robb picked up the grotesque head, still dripping with Joffrey’s lifeblood, and walked over with it to where she was sat, on the Iron Throne, with a hundred swords digging into her back. He kneeled down before her, and offered the head to her, arms outstretched above him. Some of the blood spattered on her gown, leaving deep stains in the blue material. When she leaned forward to receive the head, to her terror it was not Joffrey’s blonde head, but that of Robb’s, and she let out a scream that startled the now headless man in front of her.

“It’s okay, my lady, you are safe, you are safe now.” A voice woke her. It was Shae; she had come running after hearing Sansa’s piercing screams. Her handmaiden hastily shushed her and wiped her sweaty hair back away from her forehead.

“How can I be okay? He’s dead, he’s dead and he’s never coming for me.” The visions of her brother’s headless body came flooding back to her, threatening to push her over the edge of sanity.

“Who, lady? The King? Was it a nightmare?” Sansa gestured to the carafe on the table next her bed, clutching at her throat because the tears were stuck there. The water Shae handed to her was lukewarm and stale, but she gulped it down hastily nevertheless, dropping it over herself in the process.

That wasn’t the only wetness she could feel, though. She reached under her nightgown, between her thighs, which were sticky and scarlet with the moonblood that would bring her nothing but pain for the next few days.

“Could you bring me some wine please, Shae? I just want this pain to stop. And if you’d help me with these sheets…”

“Of course, my lady. Here, let me get you out of that dress.”

The blood was all too stark a reminder of what she wanted to erase from her memory; that Robb Stark was no more, that he was just a body, that he had left her alone in the world. He would not come for her, and she must lose hope of the only saviour that she had always believed in. The gods were cruel indeed, to take her brother, when men like Joffrey lived.


End file.
